Blimey, we really were spoilt rotten on the 5th of February 2011, weren't we? A day of absolute mayhem in the football Premier League (and a day that Arsenal fans are probably still trying to forget about), and then this gem of a gig tucked away in the evening, with in my opinion the two best bands on the circuit at the moment in the top two slots on the bill. The term 'not to be missed' is one of those terms bandied around by over-zealous promoters in a desperate attempt to get bodies into venues and cash into their pockets, but in this case, such a term feels wholly appropriate, which is why I'm thankful for the late lift down there I received at literally the 11th hour.
This late arrival meant that I missed everyone's favourite Gravesend ska-punkers My Third Leg, but honestly, if you're that interested to know what they are like live, go and read one of the many other reviews I've written on them in the last few months, and odds are good that you'd be able to apply what I've said in those articles to their performance tonight. Unless they had just finished packing away the pyrotechnics and breakdancing cats, then I'm pretty sure I've not missed anything I haven't seen multiple times before.
Having said that, I'd rather have missed L.O.W.D (39%) (that's pronounced 'loud' if anyone was wondering) and seen M3L for the umpteenth time in the last few months, such was the mediocre fare of their set. It's probably unfair of me to fully grade their performance, seeing as I was outside, taking my chances with the cigarette smoke and the cold for most of their set, although that in itself probably tells you how highly I regarded them - answer, not very. The first impression was not good - they suffered from 'yeah, we're a band' syndrome, which seemed to give them an excuse to stand completely still and not look in the least bit interested in what they were playing, whilst the singer strutted around and demanded that the audience get moving, jump up, etc etc. Such things are a two-way street, pal, and if you're not putting in the effort, then why should we? Especially when your music is so painfully anodyne and by-the-numbers that this alone is enough to bore most of the prospective crowd into submission and a long ciggie outside. Their take on aggro-punk was so painfully tedious and beige sounding that had this been the sound of London and New York in the late 70s, punk rock would never have made it out of the squats, and thank fuck bands like The Ramones, The Clash and others were there to turn it into the amazing musical genre it has become today. Oh, and speaking of the Ramones, they then went and massacred 'Blitzkrieg Bop', which I thought was both illegal under international law and impossible to actually do. They played it slower than the original studio version, for Pete's sakes! And unbelievably, despite this, they will now be able to say that they've supported Random Hand. Don't let that fool you, folks - this was some of the most boring dross I've ever heard served up under the banner of punk/rock 'n' roll, and this crushing lack of energy and joie de vivre will hinder any further progress the band wishes to make.
So whilst they headed back to the rehearsal room and the proverbial drawing board, the anticipation levels cranked up as the time ticked down to the start of this colossal clash of the titans. The challengers and potential heirs to the throne, Tyrannosaurus Alan (92%), were up first, and unsurprisingly, it was explosive and energetic from the word go. The boys seem to have a knack of finding an involuntary muscle reflex in everyone's bodies that makes them start skanking, dancing, jumping and hollering along like lunatics whether they were actually planning on doing so or not. You just can't help it - with the ferocious cocktail of outrageously catchy horn hooks and muscular guitars and drumbeats laying waste to everything in it's way, you have absolutely no choice but to respond accordingly and dance. As usual, guitarist and frontman 1 Ollie Harries' vocals are set to full-auto, and they chatter and rattle unrelentingly alongside trombonist and frontman 2 Simon Champ's cannon barks at the choruses, and the formidable rhythm section of Ben Robinson on bass and Craig Shephard on drums is rock solid and razor sharp, holding the myriad horns and crashing riffs in check with immense precision and fluidity. The majority of the brilliant 'Campaign' record is rolled out, as well as one new song, which largely eschews the ska-punk carnage for the most part and worships at the alter of hip-hop, with a suitably grimy beat driving on Ollie's extended raps, and it's an interesting change of pace, although I'd be concerned if this was the exclusive new path they were taking. Still, look how far Sonic Boom Six have got with the whole hip-hop-with-guitars path, and besides, the T-Alan collective could release a second album comprising entirely of Mumford and Sons covers played on balalaikas and harpsichords - with anthems of such strength as 'The Officer Problem', 'Bombard the BBC', 'Spitting in a Dead Man's Eye' and 'Kourtney Palmer' already in the bank, and with a live show as devastating and immensely enjoyable as this, their status is secure, and their star will continue to rise in 2011.
So, the challengers laid down the gauntlet in stunning style. How did the incumbents respond? With a powerhouse performance right out of the top drawer, that's how. Despite the traditional bout of early deserters, there was still a large contingent with just about enough energy left over to skank and shout themselves to a standstill. And Random Hand (94%) provided the perfect fuel for this rabid fire, with a set of crunching, melodic and soaring ska-rock anthems, delivered with rabid, phlegm-spitting energy from frontman Robin Leitch and his cohorts. Recently added drummer Sean Howe has earned his stripes as a rock 'n' roll drummer par excellence, and his rock-solid beats and raucous crashes drive the entire music on at a relentless pace, with bassist Joe Tilston locking everything down alongside him. This allows Leitch's vocals to snarl and bark with wild abandon, and Matt Crosher's crunching guitar riffs to smash through the mix like a devastating whirling dervish of overdriven power and melody. They are a monstrously tight and razor-sharp unit, and all this adds up to great anthems aplenty. A shrieking siren wail signals the crushing 'Anthropology' to start the set, and the excellent 'I, Human' swiftly follows. 'For Roni' (a personal favourite of mine), 'Devil's Little Guinea Pig' and 'Roots in the Crowd' keep the pace fast and unrelenting throughout the set, before the quite brilliant triumvirate of 'Anger Management', 'Play Some Ska' and 'Scum Triumphant' brings the evening to a spectacular crescendo.
So, after a thoroughly boring undercard, the heavyweight title fight was an absolute stormer, with the reigning champions from Bradford only just retaining their title on points after an epic bout. Fantastic fun, and both are looking in fine fettle to take 2011 by storm and make it their own.
Showing posts with label Tyrannosaurus Alan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tyrannosaurus Alan. Show all posts
Thursday, 17 February 2011
Sunday, 12 December 2010
Live: Random Hand ft. The Skints, Dirty Revolution and others - Camden Underworld, London 11/12/10
You know something? This whole local punk scene thing has it's upsides. 2 gigs in 2 consecutive Saturdays, both blessed with awesome lineups of the movers and shakers of UK underground punk and ska music. And both featuring Tyrannosaurus Alan, funnily enough. But, whilst the Medway boys were the undisputed stars of the show last week in Sheerness, a crammed Camden Underworld packed with an all-star lineup from the length and breadth of the UK is a different proposition. Make no mistake, this is a step up from last weekend, as good as it was; this is a heavyweight showdown in the heart of the capital, and one that has 'gig of the year' stamped all over it, top to bottom.
There's two ways you can view Tyrannosaurus Alan's (9/10) opening slot - either, it's to guarantee a blazing start to proceedings, or a result of booking agent politics that does the band a disservice. In a way, their 30-minute set gives evidence for both cases - for the former, they blast out their fantastic rap-ska-punk hybrid and get bodies moving with no effort at all despite the 4:30pm start time and a distinct lack of alcohol consumed thus far (I say that - I wouldn't put it past some members of this audience to have been drinking since sunrise), and for the latter, their set is of such storming quality (as always, really) that it leaves the nagging impression that they should be hitting the stage later and further up the bill. That would be the case in a perfect world, but a) I can understand the reasons behind the scheduling, and b) to be honest, the T-Alan crew don't look like they give a fuck about such issues - they're just here to kick ass and have fun, just as always, and it's only good and proper that they have a like-minded audience, with skank pits kicking off without a second invitation. The dual-vocal attack is as always a devastating combo, with guitarist Ollie Bill Harries spitting, bouncing and skanking, and partial trombonist Simon Champ hollering, barking and urging the crowd on. Drummer Craig Shepard holds everything together with tight and ruthless beats, and the horn section of Sam Wilson (trumpet) and Tom 'with dreads' Broster and Chris Humphrey (saxophones) deliver hooks aplenty in the eye of the storm. A blazing start to the event, and a childhood dream (if you believe the band) fulfilled in style. If there's any justice, this lot should be back here in more prominent slots - who knows, maybe even headlining - in the near future.
I spoke before about how difficult it is to follow on from T-Alan, and tonight it's the turn of Broken Nose (5.5/10) to try and step up in the wake of the explosive opening. What doesn't help this particular band's cause is a lead singer who's constant screamed vocals sounds like Zach de la Rocha getting raped by Frank Carter and Kid Rock in the toilets - this may be personal opinion, but I couldn't stand them. The rest of the band appeared to follow suit, spewing forth a somewhat functional blasting of punky, hardcore-y heaviosity that, combined with (and mainly because of) the razor-blade-being-rammed-into-my-ears vocal delivery, begins to grate very swiftly. However, occasionally they'll switch to a slower reggae groove, and it's here that they earn a few points back, because they're much superior in this element. It's almost cunning how they do it - just when I'm really getting pissed off over the terrible screaming, a nice reggae section or riff comes along to calm me down again. Yes, I see what you did there, Broken Nose, you sly bunch, but it's still not enough for me to fully enjoy your set, especially when you toss aside the reggae pretensions anyway for a final two songs of crashing caterwauling. Like I said, this could be personal opinion; I mean, a fair few people seem to think Laila from Sonic Boom Six's vocal delivery is maddeningly awful, and I quite like it. Also, the idea of ska-core as a genre doesn't really wash with me, so what I will say is give them a listen for yourself - if this is your thing, then take this review as ignorant bile. Otherwise, steer clear.
It appears screamed vocals are en vogue tonight, as next band up I.C.H. (7/10) are also quite keen on them. But instead of shrieking-cat-in-a-washing-machine, I.C.H.'s frontman prefers gruff, whiplash barking to get his point across, and it's a little easier to digest, if no easier on the ear. I was told minutes before their set that these boys are due to tour sometime next year with The Jack Brews, and it doesn't take long to work out why - crushing, rollicking old-skool punk rock with hardcore overtones are the order of the day here, delivered with absolutely no subtlety and a lot of devastating pace. If you're looking for a metaphor to describe them, try to imagine Rancid doing a set composing entirely of covers of all of Lars Fredrikson's favourite 1980s UK street punk and hardcore bands, and you have a fairly accurate summation of I.C.H.'s schtick. It's relentless, with buzzsaw riffs and runaway train drumming battering you senseless, and although I don't have much time for hardcore music personally, there's enough punk rock crunching guitars and attitude in the melee for me to be drawn in. It does suffer from getting a bit samey, but in a short, sharp, half-hour shock of a set, the lack of deviation from the standard formula works well, especially with the amount of alcohol now starting to float around the venue. Job well done, and that tour with the Brews sounds like an enticing prospect.
The first of the three touring bands, Dirty Revolution (7.5/10), are up next, and...hang on, are you sure this isn't The Skints arriving early? A female-fronted band playing mellow reggae...actually, that's where the similarities end. For one, The Skints actually have memorable tunes - too many of DR's early songs just seem to float absent-mindedly out of the venue without ever leaving any kind of mark. Which is rather odd, considering I've been led to believe that these guys (and girl) are known for a gritty and powerful mix of punk, ska, and reggae - I can only think I got the wrong Facebook page, although it did look very convincing. Because what I'm seeing, and what I'm hearing, isn't particularly dirty, and it's not very revolutionary either, if you'll pardon the pun. I did miss the very start of their set, so maybe I missed a few gems, but what I did see was pretty run-of-the-mill, cookie-cutter stuff, with their music lacking the chilled, easy melodies of Captain Accident or Jaya the Cat, or the gritty street feel of The Skints. It's desperately crying out for an identity, which is why it's refreshing to see them chuck the reggae pretensions in a skip for the final couple of songs and up the tempo, and it's now that they reveal themselves as a fine little ska band with real promise in this area. And by ska, I do mean just ska, for a change - as I've said before, whilst ska-punk is all very well and good, there seems to be an absolute deluge of bands ploughing that particular furrow currently (including the two bands at the top and bottom of this bill), and not much exclusivity for either ska or punk rock as individual styles, and I'd love to see Dirty Revolution progress with their ska overtones, not only for the reason above, but because they seem so damn good at it. The excellent band anthem 'I Love Reggae (I Love Ska)' proves this with a fine ending to their set, but it doesn't seem enough. It may be that the earlier reggae-orientated stuff needs repeated listens on Myspace to sink in, but it's the 2-3 ska tunes at the end of the set that earn them most of the points, because they were the only tunes that managed to hold my attention and get me interested.
I happen to end up directly stage front for the start of Moral Dilemma's (7.5/10) set, and as a result I end up getting shot-blasted in the face with an assault on the senses as they kick into their set. It's a 3-piece, with a singer touting a Gibson SG and a female bassist who contributes backing vocals, but any comparisons to The Subways are given a stern battering over the head with a stick of wood before being dumped in the gutter. Like I.C.H. earlier, MD are all about the hardcore punk, and just in case you hadn't gotten enough screamed vocals for the evening, frontman Craig Temple knows no other way of delivering vocals than by screaming them like an outraged bear. Musically, they remind me a lot of Black Flag, and for most that would be a massive complement - but I'm not a big fan of Black Flag, sacrilegious as that probably is. So by all rights, I should stick my fingers in my ears and head for the bar, but again like I.C.H. earlier, there's more than enough here to keep me heartily engaged, no matter how much the vocals begin to grate - and believe me, they do. First off, the sheer amount of energy on display is pretty astonishing, from all members. Bassist Chloe Chourrout snarls backing vocals and bounds around the stage with wild abandon, and Temple himself is a mass of sweat and frenzied spasms of movement - when he's not abusing his guitar or loosing his temper with the microphone, he's rallying the troops in the crowd in between the songs with stirring anti-authoritarian speeches, topically revolving around the student protests and riots in London a few days ago, and whilst I do think it's easy nowadays for bands to shout 'fuck the police!' and get a reaction, much like it was cool for US bands to shout 'Fuck Bush!' intermittently a few years ago, the level of passion and righteous fury these sentiments are delivered with deserves much respect. Secondly, they aren't afraid to mix the standard hardcore formula up occasionally, either by slowing the tempo a little (which isn't saying much considering their standard tempo is somewhere between stupidly fast and hyperspeed) or breaking things down, bit by bit, allowing Chourrout a chance to exhibit some neat and excellent bass skills, before building things back up to a riotous conclusion. It's these moments that prevent things from getting too samey, and this (admittedly rather slim) level of restraint gives the high-octane moments more impact. I'm curious to see if they develop on this in the future. For now, I can best sum them up as Black Flag mixed with 80s UK and US hardcore punk, so if you're a big fan of those styles, then feel free to dismiss my ramblings, because you'll almost certainly enjoy Moral Dilemma.
Since when did it get so crowded in here? Seriously, there's suddenly no room to move in here, with bodies crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on the Underworld floor. Actually, it's no surprise that the room has filled up so quickly - we're at the business end of the gig, and the penultimate band on have been the go-to band to support pretty much every big US punk/ska band that has toured here in the last 18 months or more. Yup, it's time for me to see what the fuss is about and catch The Skints (8.5/10) live for the first time, and whilst I do enjoy their set of gritty street reggae/dub stylings, it bewilders me just how maniacal the crowd get - moshing, pogoing and stagediving at the slightest opportunity, which seems odd considering the music they're actually hollering along to, though I suppose with the amount of drink flowing around the venue by now, you could put some dross by Coldplay on the speakers and people would still go berserk to it, and as I've already said, The Skints collective have been gathering fans left, right and centre over the last year or so to form together a hardcore band of followers. All of what I've written so far sounds like I'm being condescending to The Skints, which would be doing them a disservice - their high musicianship and technicality flows into the gritty, guttural rapped vocal lines to create a lovely fusion of melody and bubbling rhythm. They see T-Alan's 2 co-vocalists and raise them 3 here - drummer Jamie Kyriakides is probably the pick of the bunch with a throaty and soulful delivery, which meshes brilliantly with quasi-frontwoman and multi-instrumentalist Marcia Richards at stage front. Richards' vocals veer sometimes into dancehall in a rootsy trip through reggae's history books, and it always has this lovely feeling of flitting over the top of the music around it. The only weak link is guitarist Josh Rudge - his rapping is often close to God-awful, and sometimes downright cringeworthy, but it does improve in all fairness as the set goes on. Musically the band are close to spot-on, with Richards' threatening to steal the show whilst flitting between vocals, saxophone, flute, melodica and keyboards with ease, but to be honest the true heroes of The Skints are the rhythm section of Kyriakides' drumming and Jon Doyle's excellent and fluid basslines. The band themselves recognise this and allow Doyle a nice solo section in one of the songs, and his bass work subtly drives each song forward. In reggae, great bass work is absolutely vital, and The Skints have that area nailed to a tee. Overall, a higly enjoyable set, although it still doesn't convince me that the band are worth the rabid adoration they are affored. Maybe I'm being overly cynical, and The Skints themselves certainly deserve plaudits for an excellent and unique take on roots reggae.
So, just like last week, the penultimate band on the bill threaten to steal the show, and also just like last week, a fair few people seem to bail, thinking that there's nothing else to offer. Unlike last week though, a) there's still a very healthy contingent in the crowd for the headline act, and b) there's absolutely no way Random Hand (10/10) will allow themselves to be upstaged by one of the support acts, and as they charge into action, there's a sense of something pretty special erupting. 2010 hasn't been the best of years for the Hand, but now that they have a new drummer in place, they've returned and are ready to make up for lost time. The formula they've crafted and honed demonstrates the advantage of restraint I talked about earlier - the furiously skanked verses mixed with anthemic choruses and buzzsaw riffs to form a ridiculously catchy, energetic and powerful ska-punk-rock explosion quite unlike anything I've heard. The closest comparison I can perhaps give is a ska-influenced Billy Talent, but even then that particular metaphor is tenuous to say the least. What is so special to behold is that nothing the band does feels at all forced; it's all so natural, effortlessly fluid and razor-sharp. Frontman Robin Leitch is an intense whirligig of energy during songs, and a warm, friendly presence between songs, chatting with the crowd in his distinct Bradford burr, and directing the captive audience to pull off a couple of Camden Underworld firsts: the first ever 'crawl of death' (as opposed to Wall of Death, see?), and the first ever figure of 8 circle pit around the twin pillars on the Underworld floor. As a promised reward for this, he gives us 'partial nudity' in return - basically him struggling to get his sweaty T-shirt off. All fun stuff, especially with guitarist Matt Crosher interjecting occasional lines, and a brief technical delay with Crosher's guitar is smoothed over effortlessly. So, with any divide between band and audience well and truly dismantled, we're invited to join in heartily with the Hand's ska-punk party, through any way possible - outright moshing, pogoing, skanking, hollering along with Leitch and his cohorts, crowd-surfing, stage-diving, you name it, people are doing it without a second thought; almost as if it's obligatory, nay, compulsory. Even members of the other bands are at it, with several members of T-Alan in particular dancing and grinning like idiots (and even stagediving at some points). They inspire that level of rabid emotion through almost every second of their set - and when you've got an armoury of tunes of such high quality as this, coupled with such a superb live show, it's no surprise at all. Every member plays their part - new drummer Sean Howe is a powerhouse of crashing beat precision, bassist Joe Tilston stakes his claim to be one of the best bassists in the business at the moment with a superbly rhythmic and fluid performance, and the dynamic duo of Leitch's barked vocals and Crosher's dynamic guitar work are the formidable icing on a brilliant and anthemic cake. Speaking of anthems, the Hand certainly aren't short of one or two of those - the obligatory new songs from delayed new album 'Seething is Believing' show a nice progression from the already existing material, ramping up the riffs and trombone hooks to new levels. But with a back catalogue as strong as this, inevitable fan favourites have already been formed, and nearly all of them are unleashed tonight; the rousing 'Play Some Ska' comes early on, and the stunning double-gut-punch of 'Anger Management' and 'Scum Triumphant' ends the regular set. After a one-song encore, the band say their goodbyes and depart, to leave behind the wreckage of a sweaty and delirious crowd, delighted with the night's entertainment.
I began this review by touting this gig as possibly one of the best of the year, and overall, despite some dips in quality (and a contingent of plastic punk posers trying not to spoil their mohawks, but we'll talk about that in another post), tonight has lived up to billing in some style - a great combination of reggae, ska and uncompromising hardcore punk, bookended by probably the two strongest ska-punk bands in the U.K. at this time. And on tonight's evidence, 2011 looks like a fantastic year in prospect for the UK underground scene.
Overall Rating: 9.5/10
There's two ways you can view Tyrannosaurus Alan's (9/10) opening slot - either, it's to guarantee a blazing start to proceedings, or a result of booking agent politics that does the band a disservice. In a way, their 30-minute set gives evidence for both cases - for the former, they blast out their fantastic rap-ska-punk hybrid and get bodies moving with no effort at all despite the 4:30pm start time and a distinct lack of alcohol consumed thus far (I say that - I wouldn't put it past some members of this audience to have been drinking since sunrise), and for the latter, their set is of such storming quality (as always, really) that it leaves the nagging impression that they should be hitting the stage later and further up the bill. That would be the case in a perfect world, but a) I can understand the reasons behind the scheduling, and b) to be honest, the T-Alan crew don't look like they give a fuck about such issues - they're just here to kick ass and have fun, just as always, and it's only good and proper that they have a like-minded audience, with skank pits kicking off without a second invitation. The dual-vocal attack is as always a devastating combo, with guitarist Ollie Bill Harries spitting, bouncing and skanking, and partial trombonist Simon Champ hollering, barking and urging the crowd on. Drummer Craig Shepard holds everything together with tight and ruthless beats, and the horn section of Sam Wilson (trumpet) and Tom 'with dreads' Broster and Chris Humphrey (saxophones) deliver hooks aplenty in the eye of the storm. A blazing start to the event, and a childhood dream (if you believe the band) fulfilled in style. If there's any justice, this lot should be back here in more prominent slots - who knows, maybe even headlining - in the near future.
I spoke before about how difficult it is to follow on from T-Alan, and tonight it's the turn of Broken Nose (5.5/10) to try and step up in the wake of the explosive opening. What doesn't help this particular band's cause is a lead singer who's constant screamed vocals sounds like Zach de la Rocha getting raped by Frank Carter and Kid Rock in the toilets - this may be personal opinion, but I couldn't stand them. The rest of the band appeared to follow suit, spewing forth a somewhat functional blasting of punky, hardcore-y heaviosity that, combined with (and mainly because of) the razor-blade-being-rammed-into-my-ears vocal delivery, begins to grate very swiftly. However, occasionally they'll switch to a slower reggae groove, and it's here that they earn a few points back, because they're much superior in this element. It's almost cunning how they do it - just when I'm really getting pissed off over the terrible screaming, a nice reggae section or riff comes along to calm me down again. Yes, I see what you did there, Broken Nose, you sly bunch, but it's still not enough for me to fully enjoy your set, especially when you toss aside the reggae pretensions anyway for a final two songs of crashing caterwauling. Like I said, this could be personal opinion; I mean, a fair few people seem to think Laila from Sonic Boom Six's vocal delivery is maddeningly awful, and I quite like it. Also, the idea of ska-core as a genre doesn't really wash with me, so what I will say is give them a listen for yourself - if this is your thing, then take this review as ignorant bile. Otherwise, steer clear.
It appears screamed vocals are en vogue tonight, as next band up I.C.H. (7/10) are also quite keen on them. But instead of shrieking-cat-in-a-washing-machine, I.C.H.'s frontman prefers gruff, whiplash barking to get his point across, and it's a little easier to digest, if no easier on the ear. I was told minutes before their set that these boys are due to tour sometime next year with The Jack Brews, and it doesn't take long to work out why - crushing, rollicking old-skool punk rock with hardcore overtones are the order of the day here, delivered with absolutely no subtlety and a lot of devastating pace. If you're looking for a metaphor to describe them, try to imagine Rancid doing a set composing entirely of covers of all of Lars Fredrikson's favourite 1980s UK street punk and hardcore bands, and you have a fairly accurate summation of I.C.H.'s schtick. It's relentless, with buzzsaw riffs and runaway train drumming battering you senseless, and although I don't have much time for hardcore music personally, there's enough punk rock crunching guitars and attitude in the melee for me to be drawn in. It does suffer from getting a bit samey, but in a short, sharp, half-hour shock of a set, the lack of deviation from the standard formula works well, especially with the amount of alcohol now starting to float around the venue. Job well done, and that tour with the Brews sounds like an enticing prospect.
The first of the three touring bands, Dirty Revolution (7.5/10), are up next, and...hang on, are you sure this isn't The Skints arriving early? A female-fronted band playing mellow reggae...actually, that's where the similarities end. For one, The Skints actually have memorable tunes - too many of DR's early songs just seem to float absent-mindedly out of the venue without ever leaving any kind of mark. Which is rather odd, considering I've been led to believe that these guys (and girl) are known for a gritty and powerful mix of punk, ska, and reggae - I can only think I got the wrong Facebook page, although it did look very convincing. Because what I'm seeing, and what I'm hearing, isn't particularly dirty, and it's not very revolutionary either, if you'll pardon the pun. I did miss the very start of their set, so maybe I missed a few gems, but what I did see was pretty run-of-the-mill, cookie-cutter stuff, with their music lacking the chilled, easy melodies of Captain Accident or Jaya the Cat, or the gritty street feel of The Skints. It's desperately crying out for an identity, which is why it's refreshing to see them chuck the reggae pretensions in a skip for the final couple of songs and up the tempo, and it's now that they reveal themselves as a fine little ska band with real promise in this area. And by ska, I do mean just ska, for a change - as I've said before, whilst ska-punk is all very well and good, there seems to be an absolute deluge of bands ploughing that particular furrow currently (including the two bands at the top and bottom of this bill), and not much exclusivity for either ska or punk rock as individual styles, and I'd love to see Dirty Revolution progress with their ska overtones, not only for the reason above, but because they seem so damn good at it. The excellent band anthem 'I Love Reggae (I Love Ska)' proves this with a fine ending to their set, but it doesn't seem enough. It may be that the earlier reggae-orientated stuff needs repeated listens on Myspace to sink in, but it's the 2-3 ska tunes at the end of the set that earn them most of the points, because they were the only tunes that managed to hold my attention and get me interested.
I happen to end up directly stage front for the start of Moral Dilemma's (7.5/10) set, and as a result I end up getting shot-blasted in the face with an assault on the senses as they kick into their set. It's a 3-piece, with a singer touting a Gibson SG and a female bassist who contributes backing vocals, but any comparisons to The Subways are given a stern battering over the head with a stick of wood before being dumped in the gutter. Like I.C.H. earlier, MD are all about the hardcore punk, and just in case you hadn't gotten enough screamed vocals for the evening, frontman Craig Temple knows no other way of delivering vocals than by screaming them like an outraged bear. Musically, they remind me a lot of Black Flag, and for most that would be a massive complement - but I'm not a big fan of Black Flag, sacrilegious as that probably is. So by all rights, I should stick my fingers in my ears and head for the bar, but again like I.C.H. earlier, there's more than enough here to keep me heartily engaged, no matter how much the vocals begin to grate - and believe me, they do. First off, the sheer amount of energy on display is pretty astonishing, from all members. Bassist Chloe Chourrout snarls backing vocals and bounds around the stage with wild abandon, and Temple himself is a mass of sweat and frenzied spasms of movement - when he's not abusing his guitar or loosing his temper with the microphone, he's rallying the troops in the crowd in between the songs with stirring anti-authoritarian speeches, topically revolving around the student protests and riots in London a few days ago, and whilst I do think it's easy nowadays for bands to shout 'fuck the police!' and get a reaction, much like it was cool for US bands to shout 'Fuck Bush!' intermittently a few years ago, the level of passion and righteous fury these sentiments are delivered with deserves much respect. Secondly, they aren't afraid to mix the standard hardcore formula up occasionally, either by slowing the tempo a little (which isn't saying much considering their standard tempo is somewhere between stupidly fast and hyperspeed) or breaking things down, bit by bit, allowing Chourrout a chance to exhibit some neat and excellent bass skills, before building things back up to a riotous conclusion. It's these moments that prevent things from getting too samey, and this (admittedly rather slim) level of restraint gives the high-octane moments more impact. I'm curious to see if they develop on this in the future. For now, I can best sum them up as Black Flag mixed with 80s UK and US hardcore punk, so if you're a big fan of those styles, then feel free to dismiss my ramblings, because you'll almost certainly enjoy Moral Dilemma.
Since when did it get so crowded in here? Seriously, there's suddenly no room to move in here, with bodies crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on the Underworld floor. Actually, it's no surprise that the room has filled up so quickly - we're at the business end of the gig, and the penultimate band on have been the go-to band to support pretty much every big US punk/ska band that has toured here in the last 18 months or more. Yup, it's time for me to see what the fuss is about and catch The Skints (8.5/10) live for the first time, and whilst I do enjoy their set of gritty street reggae/dub stylings, it bewilders me just how maniacal the crowd get - moshing, pogoing and stagediving at the slightest opportunity, which seems odd considering the music they're actually hollering along to, though I suppose with the amount of drink flowing around the venue by now, you could put some dross by Coldplay on the speakers and people would still go berserk to it, and as I've already said, The Skints collective have been gathering fans left, right and centre over the last year or so to form together a hardcore band of followers. All of what I've written so far sounds like I'm being condescending to The Skints, which would be doing them a disservice - their high musicianship and technicality flows into the gritty, guttural rapped vocal lines to create a lovely fusion of melody and bubbling rhythm. They see T-Alan's 2 co-vocalists and raise them 3 here - drummer Jamie Kyriakides is probably the pick of the bunch with a throaty and soulful delivery, which meshes brilliantly with quasi-frontwoman and multi-instrumentalist Marcia Richards at stage front. Richards' vocals veer sometimes into dancehall in a rootsy trip through reggae's history books, and it always has this lovely feeling of flitting over the top of the music around it. The only weak link is guitarist Josh Rudge - his rapping is often close to God-awful, and sometimes downright cringeworthy, but it does improve in all fairness as the set goes on. Musically the band are close to spot-on, with Richards' threatening to steal the show whilst flitting between vocals, saxophone, flute, melodica and keyboards with ease, but to be honest the true heroes of The Skints are the rhythm section of Kyriakides' drumming and Jon Doyle's excellent and fluid basslines. The band themselves recognise this and allow Doyle a nice solo section in one of the songs, and his bass work subtly drives each song forward. In reggae, great bass work is absolutely vital, and The Skints have that area nailed to a tee. Overall, a higly enjoyable set, although it still doesn't convince me that the band are worth the rabid adoration they are affored. Maybe I'm being overly cynical, and The Skints themselves certainly deserve plaudits for an excellent and unique take on roots reggae.
So, just like last week, the penultimate band on the bill threaten to steal the show, and also just like last week, a fair few people seem to bail, thinking that there's nothing else to offer. Unlike last week though, a) there's still a very healthy contingent in the crowd for the headline act, and b) there's absolutely no way Random Hand (10/10) will allow themselves to be upstaged by one of the support acts, and as they charge into action, there's a sense of something pretty special erupting. 2010 hasn't been the best of years for the Hand, but now that they have a new drummer in place, they've returned and are ready to make up for lost time. The formula they've crafted and honed demonstrates the advantage of restraint I talked about earlier - the furiously skanked verses mixed with anthemic choruses and buzzsaw riffs to form a ridiculously catchy, energetic and powerful ska-punk-rock explosion quite unlike anything I've heard. The closest comparison I can perhaps give is a ska-influenced Billy Talent, but even then that particular metaphor is tenuous to say the least. What is so special to behold is that nothing the band does feels at all forced; it's all so natural, effortlessly fluid and razor-sharp. Frontman Robin Leitch is an intense whirligig of energy during songs, and a warm, friendly presence between songs, chatting with the crowd in his distinct Bradford burr, and directing the captive audience to pull off a couple of Camden Underworld firsts: the first ever 'crawl of death' (as opposed to Wall of Death, see?), and the first ever figure of 8 circle pit around the twin pillars on the Underworld floor. As a promised reward for this, he gives us 'partial nudity' in return - basically him struggling to get his sweaty T-shirt off. All fun stuff, especially with guitarist Matt Crosher interjecting occasional lines, and a brief technical delay with Crosher's guitar is smoothed over effortlessly. So, with any divide between band and audience well and truly dismantled, we're invited to join in heartily with the Hand's ska-punk party, through any way possible - outright moshing, pogoing, skanking, hollering along with Leitch and his cohorts, crowd-surfing, stage-diving, you name it, people are doing it without a second thought; almost as if it's obligatory, nay, compulsory. Even members of the other bands are at it, with several members of T-Alan in particular dancing and grinning like idiots (and even stagediving at some points). They inspire that level of rabid emotion through almost every second of their set - and when you've got an armoury of tunes of such high quality as this, coupled with such a superb live show, it's no surprise at all. Every member plays their part - new drummer Sean Howe is a powerhouse of crashing beat precision, bassist Joe Tilston stakes his claim to be one of the best bassists in the business at the moment with a superbly rhythmic and fluid performance, and the dynamic duo of Leitch's barked vocals and Crosher's dynamic guitar work are the formidable icing on a brilliant and anthemic cake. Speaking of anthems, the Hand certainly aren't short of one or two of those - the obligatory new songs from delayed new album 'Seething is Believing' show a nice progression from the already existing material, ramping up the riffs and trombone hooks to new levels. But with a back catalogue as strong as this, inevitable fan favourites have already been formed, and nearly all of them are unleashed tonight; the rousing 'Play Some Ska' comes early on, and the stunning double-gut-punch of 'Anger Management' and 'Scum Triumphant' ends the regular set. After a one-song encore, the band say their goodbyes and depart, to leave behind the wreckage of a sweaty and delirious crowd, delighted with the night's entertainment.
I began this review by touting this gig as possibly one of the best of the year, and overall, despite some dips in quality (and a contingent of plastic punk posers trying not to spoil their mohawks, but we'll talk about that in another post), tonight has lived up to billing in some style - a great combination of reggae, ska and uncompromising hardcore punk, bookended by probably the two strongest ska-punk bands in the U.K. at this time. And on tonight's evidence, 2011 looks like a fantastic year in prospect for the UK underground scene.
Overall Rating: 9.5/10
Sunday, 5 December 2010
Live: We Are The Union & others all-day show - The Ivy Leaf Bar, Sheerness, 4/12/10
Considering the continuing presence of mysterious white powdery stuff on the ground, the fact that this gig even took place is a small miracle in itself. Seriously, it goes beyond funny and into the realms of facepalm-inducingly pathetic just how bad this country - mainly the government and local councils - are at dealing with the snow. After a week couped up inside listening to interminable news reporters standing around looking stupid and wittering on about 'the treacherous conditions taking their grip' and other such bollocks, I was rather up for a decent gig, and it appears Mother Nature agreed, easing up on the snow just in time for what, on paper, looked like one of the gigs of the year. A great little venue playing host to a roster of bands which read like a who's-who of the UK scene, complete with American headliners fresh off of tour with none other than Less Than Jake. This was a gig not to be missed, and by hook or by crook, and with a helping hand from Messrs Wayne and Tom with Dreads, I hitched a lift down and was able to bare witness to the fun that unfolded.
It's pretty much a given that any all-day event will never start on time, and I arrived just after the 4:45pm eventual start time, to be greeted with the slightly surreal sight of a bloke bobbing around on stage with an acoustic guitar doing tongue-in-cheek covers of Disney themes and old 90's pop songs. It didn't take long to deduce that this was in fact opening act Team Harry (6/10), though it's debatable whether the 'Team' element could be applicable, seeing as it was only the 'Harry' part, in the form of vocalist and guitarist Harry Broster, present onstage. He took the opportunity of having a stage to himself to essentially dick around for half an hour, poking fun at James Blunt and cheesy boy bands, amongst others. Hell, this was about as life-affirming as the toast I ate that morning, but it's still good fun all the same, and actually comes across more as a stand-up comedy set than a live music show, not that that's a bad thing at all.
Dodgy S Club 7 covers aside, the first band on proper were Gravesend's own My Third Leg (7/10), a band I seem to have seen live more times in the last few months than I have eaten hot dinners. And to be honest, there wasn't that much different about this show to the previous three times I've seen them - you could practically copy-paste my review of them at Piccadilly Circus at the end of October and you'd have an accurate picture of tonight's show. Frontman Will Woodrow was as always warm, witty and humble, acting as a counterpoint to bassist Dave Ja Vu, who bounced around the stage non-stop and punctuated nearly every song with staccato 'eys!' and other yelped backing vocals. Drummer Paul Smith had a fairly decent set, making only a couple of mistakes - it's just a shame then that they were both so glaringly obvious that a deaf man wearing earmuffs in Timbuktu would've winced at them. It wasn't a great set overall for the Smith brothers - guitarist Mike also suffered problems with his amp cutting out, and overall the set felt a little flat compared to previous shows. Perhaps it was the early start time, a lengthy journey down from Gravesend, maybe both? I'm not sure, but what is certain is that they are admirably consistent in the quality of their performances, which considering the amount of gigs they've gotten through this year, will serve them in good stead. The challenge now in the new year will be to see if they can lift themselves up another few gears as a unit and go from 'good band' to 'great band worthy of headline status at events like this'.
I know what you're thinking - that bloke in the picture doesn't look much like either of The Plan's vocalists, Tom Crabb or Andrew Keech. That's because neither of them were actually present, for some reason or another. So rather than bail altogether, bassist Wayne Tully and drummer Ben Gower hastily recruited Captain Bastard and the Scallywags' resident mandolin player Jordan Harris (pictured) as makeshift frontman, renamed themselves Mexican Wave (6.5/10), and proceeded to belt out a set of various Nirvana and Green Day covers with varying degrees of success. Of course, mistakes and technical sloppiness in these circumstances are about as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning and politicians lying to save face, so we wound up hearing the same verse to 'Longview' repeated 3 times (in fact, most bands have a problem with that song - Dr Goon brutally buttfucked it, and even The Submission struggled with the lyrics), and 'When I Come Around' clunked badly at times, but all things considered, the group actually did pretty well. Wayne's slick bass playing and Ben's driving beats formed a strong backbone when they fire together, just as they do on a regular basis with The Plan, while Harris brought an energetic delivery and barked vocals to the party. The Nirvana covers in particular went down very well, and as they ended on another Green Day cover, the criminally underrated 'Burnout', there was a sense that the trio might have stumbled on a combination that has potential to work if it's actually formed into a proper band. It'll be interesting to see if they decide to progress with the idea.
Next up came part one of the Welsh invasion, in the form of Caerphilly's Detached (8/10). I'd heard a lot about this highly-touted ska-punk sextet, and tonight I saw exactly why they're creating such a buzz. This is proper ska-punk, in the purest sense of the word - snarling guitar riffs meld with bouncing horns and skanking beats to create a vicious, hook-laden assault that owes heavily to Less Than Jake and Big D and the Kids Table, but there's also a mild pop-punk streak running through their repertoire, bringing to mind early Kids Can't Fly or perhaps a revamped version of A Boy Named Girl with an added horn section, if you can imagine that. Frontman Rhys Mence was a livewire firecracker of energy with a vocal delivery to match, and bassist Gethin Lock cut an imposing presence next to him as they led the charge from the front. They did fall at times into a familiar trap experienced in this genre, in that some of the songs flit undisciplined from tempo to tempo, and there's never much time for a hook to embed itself in your head before they veer onto another one. Just because you have a lot of weapons in your armoury, doesn't mean you have to use as many as you can at any one time. They certainly don't suffer this as badly as other bands (I'm looking at you, Sonic Boom Six), and it didn't detract from what is an exhilarating performance full of high technical skill and chemistry. Watch out for a review of their current EP very soon, which I picked up immediately after their set from the merch stall.
Part Two of the Welsh invasion came courtesy of the band I was most looking forward to seeing for the first time - Cardiff's Captain Accident and the Disasters (9/10). Considering the enormous gamut of ska-punk bands littering the scene right now (in itself no bad thing), CA&TDs embracing of reggae so wholeheartedly makes for a refreshing change of pace, and they laid down a set of relaxed and heavily melodic grooves which got heads bobbing and bodies swaying with consummate ease. This is music so infused with the spirit of summer that it felt criminal that we were hearing it on a cold December evening, but the truth is, everyone was too busy having fun to notice - much like Jaya the Cat, this is music to loose yourself for half an hour with, swaying with the chilled melodies. Frontman Adam Parsons, in his alter ego as Captain Accident, had a soulful delivery with his vocals, and was very friendly and affable in between songs. His Disasters backing band were a smooth and fluid combination, with Earl Christian's excellent basslines and Huw Jones' nifty drumbeats providing the perfect foundation for both Parsons and lead guitarist Ryan Steadman, who's gorgeous, surf-rock-infused lead parts added another dimension to the fun. Like a modern-day Jimmy Cliff or Toots and the Maytals, this Captain and his merry men are a shining example of just how joyous reggae music can be, and long may they continue - their Pick Up the Microphone EP/Album is another record I'll run the rule over in the next few weeks.
One Day Elliot (7/10) are a band who have certainly paid their dues and earned the respect of the scene - touring and recording for all of 12 years, with multiple big-money record deals turned down along the way, tells it's own story. Tonight they successfully managed to defy their age and delivered a set full of heavy, pop-punk-inflected action, with the occasional bursts of epic overtones a la Funeral for a Friend. I personally didn't take to their music as enthusiastically as others did, but that didn't stop me admiring the energy of the performance, with frontman Paul Richards working the crowd brilliantly. They also exhibited on the shiny new tracks some awesome vocal harmonies, something that caught me completely by surprise and adds another string to their already rather crowded bow. Impressive stuff, and a demonstration from the proverbial greybeards of the scene that they still have the drive and hunger to continue for many years yet - here's to another 12 years, eh?
We were by now heading towards the climax of the event, and despite the best efforts of a valiant band of Welshmen earlier to try and steal the show, the night was only ever going to be about one band - the pride of Medway, Tyrannosaurus Alan (10/10). From the moment the seven members crammed onto the stage and surged into action, it was complete carnage on the floor - bodies pogoing and skanking everywhere in an incendiary display of energy from both crowd and band. Co-vocalist and occasional trombone player Simon Champ took centre stage and led the troops, snarling and spitting his vocals with wild abandon and whipping the crowd up into a frenzy with ease, getting fists in the air and circle pits spinning. Guitarist and fellow vocalist Ollie Harries gleefully assisted in the mayhem, and the band as a whole drove home bouncing hook after powerhouse riff with stunning precision and unity. Horns blared, basslines boomed, drums crashed, Harries' guitar crunched and the aforementioned vocals chattered like staccato machine-guns in a devastating display of contemporary ska-punk, blending their wide-ranging influences (from hip-hop to funk by way of Skindred ragga-punk) into a seamless and rip-roaring stream of awesome and honestly life-affirming anthems. The horn hook from 'The Officer Problem' embeds in your brain like a piece of white-hot shrapnel, and if the likes of 'Cheer Up' and 'Tunnels' don't get you skanking frantically, then I'm going to save you the bother and declare you medically dead. Fantastic fun. Time to raise a glass for T-Alan, one of the finest live bands in the UK right now - 2010 has certainly been their year.
You really had to pity We Are The Union (8/10) - they were supposed to be the headliners and all-star international act, and yet they discovered tonight that it's almost damn near impossible to follow on from T-Alan, largely because, once the dust has settled, there's barely anyone actually left in the venue - I'd say around 20-30 people remained when the American ska-punkers hit the stage. It may well have made sense for the two bands to have swapped around on the bill, with T-Alan headlining instead - yes, WATU are internationally well-known, and it's a pretty big deal for them to be playing a tiny club in Sheerness having just come off of a UK tour with Less than Jake and Zebrahead, but let's face it, you could put Less Than Jake themselves on and offer free beer to all attendees, and they'd still struggle to pull a crowd on a par with T-Alan. The fact that WATU still managed to rip through an energetic set despite the thinning numbers (trombone player Matt Belhanger took time out after one song to bemoan this fact, and thank those who stuck around) is admirable and shows great conviction. Mind you, the music they play demands an energetic delivery by it's very nature - buzzsaw ska-punk rock that varies in pace between breakneck and blistering. In fact, I'm going to coin a new term for them - 'skate-ska'. Because listening to them felt like listening to a skater kid's mixtape, a mixtape that skips from Less Than Jake to NOFX to Black Flag to Bad Religion to Mad Caddies and back again. It's just a shame that they fell into the same trap I mentioned above with Detached and SB6 - ill-disciplined songwriting. In fact, forget just bad discipline, this was flat-out musical schizophrenia - if ten seconds went by without sudden tempo change, then that meant you had probably passed out unconscious on the floor, gibbering and foaming at the mouth. Their music has promise, definitely, it's just that it comes and goes so quickly that you'll wonder if you were just imagining it. Like I said earlier with Detached, pick one weapon, or perhaps two at the most at any one time, and batter us over the head with that - switching weapons every five seconds more often than not kills any momentum you've built up, and can mean that songs breeze by with a lot of bluster and flare, but with no end product. Whereas T-Alan's songs will be lodged in my head until sometime after Christmas, too many of WATU's tracks will slip into obscurity until I look them up on Myspace again. If they rectify this, then they have potential to be a great band; there's nothing wrong with their live show, which was tight and frenetic from first note to last. Drummer Jim Margle switched through the various tempos without breaking sweat, and his powerhouse drumming drove the entire performance with great precision and technical ability, whilst directly in front of him onstage, frontman Reed Michael Wolcott was a hunched, aggressive figurehead with a whiplash vocal style to match. In the end, this was never going to be the glorious finale it claimed to be - T-Alan ruthlessly saw to that - but it was nevertheless a decent way of wrapping things up, and there was more than enough on show to convince me that WATU are a band worth investigating further. If they can get whoever writes their songs to calm the fuck down, then there's a chance they can harness the explosive power they possess and focus it into something great.
Summation time: with a lineup this strong, it was always going to be difficult for this show to live up to the heavy weight of expectation, but do you know what? It actually does end up matching the hype, and then some. Arguably though, this was by far and away Tyrannosaurus Alan's night, and their spectacular performance was worth the trip down and admission fee on it's own. The likes of Detached, Captain Accident, We Are The Union et al all played their part well, but in the end they were all overshadowed by one of the absolute greats of the current UK scene right now, and it was a pleasure, as well as quite a thrill, to bear witness to them.
Overall 9/10
All photos by Vic Wintergreen.
It's pretty much a given that any all-day event will never start on time, and I arrived just after the 4:45pm eventual start time, to be greeted with the slightly surreal sight of a bloke bobbing around on stage with an acoustic guitar doing tongue-in-cheek covers of Disney themes and old 90's pop songs. It didn't take long to deduce that this was in fact opening act Team Harry (6/10), though it's debatable whether the 'Team' element could be applicable, seeing as it was only the 'Harry' part, in the form of vocalist and guitarist Harry Broster, present onstage. He took the opportunity of having a stage to himself to essentially dick around for half an hour, poking fun at James Blunt and cheesy boy bands, amongst others. Hell, this was about as life-affirming as the toast I ate that morning, but it's still good fun all the same, and actually comes across more as a stand-up comedy set than a live music show, not that that's a bad thing at all.
Dodgy S Club 7 covers aside, the first band on proper were Gravesend's own My Third Leg (7/10), a band I seem to have seen live more times in the last few months than I have eaten hot dinners. And to be honest, there wasn't that much different about this show to the previous three times I've seen them - you could practically copy-paste my review of them at Piccadilly Circus at the end of October and you'd have an accurate picture of tonight's show. Frontman Will Woodrow was as always warm, witty and humble, acting as a counterpoint to bassist Dave Ja Vu, who bounced around the stage non-stop and punctuated nearly every song with staccato 'eys!' and other yelped backing vocals. Drummer Paul Smith had a fairly decent set, making only a couple of mistakes - it's just a shame then that they were both so glaringly obvious that a deaf man wearing earmuffs in Timbuktu would've winced at them. It wasn't a great set overall for the Smith brothers - guitarist Mike also suffered problems with his amp cutting out, and overall the set felt a little flat compared to previous shows. Perhaps it was the early start time, a lengthy journey down from Gravesend, maybe both? I'm not sure, but what is certain is that they are admirably consistent in the quality of their performances, which considering the amount of gigs they've gotten through this year, will serve them in good stead. The challenge now in the new year will be to see if they can lift themselves up another few gears as a unit and go from 'good band' to 'great band worthy of headline status at events like this'.
I know what you're thinking - that bloke in the picture doesn't look much like either of The Plan's vocalists, Tom Crabb or Andrew Keech. That's because neither of them were actually present, for some reason or another. So rather than bail altogether, bassist Wayne Tully and drummer Ben Gower hastily recruited Captain Bastard and the Scallywags' resident mandolin player Jordan Harris (pictured) as makeshift frontman, renamed themselves Mexican Wave (6.5/10), and proceeded to belt out a set of various Nirvana and Green Day covers with varying degrees of success. Of course, mistakes and technical sloppiness in these circumstances are about as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning and politicians lying to save face, so we wound up hearing the same verse to 'Longview' repeated 3 times (in fact, most bands have a problem with that song - Dr Goon brutally buttfucked it, and even The Submission struggled with the lyrics), and 'When I Come Around' clunked badly at times, but all things considered, the group actually did pretty well. Wayne's slick bass playing and Ben's driving beats formed a strong backbone when they fire together, just as they do on a regular basis with The Plan, while Harris brought an energetic delivery and barked vocals to the party. The Nirvana covers in particular went down very well, and as they ended on another Green Day cover, the criminally underrated 'Burnout', there was a sense that the trio might have stumbled on a combination that has potential to work if it's actually formed into a proper band. It'll be interesting to see if they decide to progress with the idea.
Next up came part one of the Welsh invasion, in the form of Caerphilly's Detached (8/10). I'd heard a lot about this highly-touted ska-punk sextet, and tonight I saw exactly why they're creating such a buzz. This is proper ska-punk, in the purest sense of the word - snarling guitar riffs meld with bouncing horns and skanking beats to create a vicious, hook-laden assault that owes heavily to Less Than Jake and Big D and the Kids Table, but there's also a mild pop-punk streak running through their repertoire, bringing to mind early Kids Can't Fly or perhaps a revamped version of A Boy Named Girl with an added horn section, if you can imagine that. Frontman Rhys Mence was a livewire firecracker of energy with a vocal delivery to match, and bassist Gethin Lock cut an imposing presence next to him as they led the charge from the front. They did fall at times into a familiar trap experienced in this genre, in that some of the songs flit undisciplined from tempo to tempo, and there's never much time for a hook to embed itself in your head before they veer onto another one. Just because you have a lot of weapons in your armoury, doesn't mean you have to use as many as you can at any one time. They certainly don't suffer this as badly as other bands (I'm looking at you, Sonic Boom Six), and it didn't detract from what is an exhilarating performance full of high technical skill and chemistry. Watch out for a review of their current EP very soon, which I picked up immediately after their set from the merch stall.
Part Two of the Welsh invasion came courtesy of the band I was most looking forward to seeing for the first time - Cardiff's Captain Accident and the Disasters (9/10). Considering the enormous gamut of ska-punk bands littering the scene right now (in itself no bad thing), CA&TDs embracing of reggae so wholeheartedly makes for a refreshing change of pace, and they laid down a set of relaxed and heavily melodic grooves which got heads bobbing and bodies swaying with consummate ease. This is music so infused with the spirit of summer that it felt criminal that we were hearing it on a cold December evening, but the truth is, everyone was too busy having fun to notice - much like Jaya the Cat, this is music to loose yourself for half an hour with, swaying with the chilled melodies. Frontman Adam Parsons, in his alter ego as Captain Accident, had a soulful delivery with his vocals, and was very friendly and affable in between songs. His Disasters backing band were a smooth and fluid combination, with Earl Christian's excellent basslines and Huw Jones' nifty drumbeats providing the perfect foundation for both Parsons and lead guitarist Ryan Steadman, who's gorgeous, surf-rock-infused lead parts added another dimension to the fun. Like a modern-day Jimmy Cliff or Toots and the Maytals, this Captain and his merry men are a shining example of just how joyous reggae music can be, and long may they continue - their Pick Up the Microphone EP/Album is another record I'll run the rule over in the next few weeks.
One Day Elliot (7/10) are a band who have certainly paid their dues and earned the respect of the scene - touring and recording for all of 12 years, with multiple big-money record deals turned down along the way, tells it's own story. Tonight they successfully managed to defy their age and delivered a set full of heavy, pop-punk-inflected action, with the occasional bursts of epic overtones a la Funeral for a Friend. I personally didn't take to their music as enthusiastically as others did, but that didn't stop me admiring the energy of the performance, with frontman Paul Richards working the crowd brilliantly. They also exhibited on the shiny new tracks some awesome vocal harmonies, something that caught me completely by surprise and adds another string to their already rather crowded bow. Impressive stuff, and a demonstration from the proverbial greybeards of the scene that they still have the drive and hunger to continue for many years yet - here's to another 12 years, eh?
We were by now heading towards the climax of the event, and despite the best efforts of a valiant band of Welshmen earlier to try and steal the show, the night was only ever going to be about one band - the pride of Medway, Tyrannosaurus Alan (10/10). From the moment the seven members crammed onto the stage and surged into action, it was complete carnage on the floor - bodies pogoing and skanking everywhere in an incendiary display of energy from both crowd and band. Co-vocalist and occasional trombone player Simon Champ took centre stage and led the troops, snarling and spitting his vocals with wild abandon and whipping the crowd up into a frenzy with ease, getting fists in the air and circle pits spinning. Guitarist and fellow vocalist Ollie Harries gleefully assisted in the mayhem, and the band as a whole drove home bouncing hook after powerhouse riff with stunning precision and unity. Horns blared, basslines boomed, drums crashed, Harries' guitar crunched and the aforementioned vocals chattered like staccato machine-guns in a devastating display of contemporary ska-punk, blending their wide-ranging influences (from hip-hop to funk by way of Skindred ragga-punk) into a seamless and rip-roaring stream of awesome and honestly life-affirming anthems. The horn hook from 'The Officer Problem' embeds in your brain like a piece of white-hot shrapnel, and if the likes of 'Cheer Up' and 'Tunnels' don't get you skanking frantically, then I'm going to save you the bother and declare you medically dead. Fantastic fun. Time to raise a glass for T-Alan, one of the finest live bands in the UK right now - 2010 has certainly been their year.
You really had to pity We Are The Union (8/10) - they were supposed to be the headliners and all-star international act, and yet they discovered tonight that it's almost damn near impossible to follow on from T-Alan, largely because, once the dust has settled, there's barely anyone actually left in the venue - I'd say around 20-30 people remained when the American ska-punkers hit the stage. It may well have made sense for the two bands to have swapped around on the bill, with T-Alan headlining instead - yes, WATU are internationally well-known, and it's a pretty big deal for them to be playing a tiny club in Sheerness having just come off of a UK tour with Less than Jake and Zebrahead, but let's face it, you could put Less Than Jake themselves on and offer free beer to all attendees, and they'd still struggle to pull a crowd on a par with T-Alan. The fact that WATU still managed to rip through an energetic set despite the thinning numbers (trombone player Matt Belhanger took time out after one song to bemoan this fact, and thank those who stuck around) is admirable and shows great conviction. Mind you, the music they play demands an energetic delivery by it's very nature - buzzsaw ska-punk rock that varies in pace between breakneck and blistering. In fact, I'm going to coin a new term for them - 'skate-ska'. Because listening to them felt like listening to a skater kid's mixtape, a mixtape that skips from Less Than Jake to NOFX to Black Flag to Bad Religion to Mad Caddies and back again. It's just a shame that they fell into the same trap I mentioned above with Detached and SB6 - ill-disciplined songwriting. In fact, forget just bad discipline, this was flat-out musical schizophrenia - if ten seconds went by without sudden tempo change, then that meant you had probably passed out unconscious on the floor, gibbering and foaming at the mouth. Their music has promise, definitely, it's just that it comes and goes so quickly that you'll wonder if you were just imagining it. Like I said earlier with Detached, pick one weapon, or perhaps two at the most at any one time, and batter us over the head with that - switching weapons every five seconds more often than not kills any momentum you've built up, and can mean that songs breeze by with a lot of bluster and flare, but with no end product. Whereas T-Alan's songs will be lodged in my head until sometime after Christmas, too many of WATU's tracks will slip into obscurity until I look them up on Myspace again. If they rectify this, then they have potential to be a great band; there's nothing wrong with their live show, which was tight and frenetic from first note to last. Drummer Jim Margle switched through the various tempos without breaking sweat, and his powerhouse drumming drove the entire performance with great precision and technical ability, whilst directly in front of him onstage, frontman Reed Michael Wolcott was a hunched, aggressive figurehead with a whiplash vocal style to match. In the end, this was never going to be the glorious finale it claimed to be - T-Alan ruthlessly saw to that - but it was nevertheless a decent way of wrapping things up, and there was more than enough on show to convince me that WATU are a band worth investigating further. If they can get whoever writes their songs to calm the fuck down, then there's a chance they can harness the explosive power they possess and focus it into something great.
Summation time: with a lineup this strong, it was always going to be difficult for this show to live up to the heavy weight of expectation, but do you know what? It actually does end up matching the hype, and then some. Arguably though, this was by far and away Tyrannosaurus Alan's night, and their spectacular performance was worth the trip down and admission fee on it's own. The likes of Detached, Captain Accident, We Are The Union et al all played their part well, but in the end they were all overshadowed by one of the absolute greats of the current UK scene right now, and it was a pleasure, as well as quite a thrill, to bear witness to them.
Overall 9/10
All photos by Vic Wintergreen.
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
Live: Jaya The Cat and others (All-Dayer) - The Red Lion, Gravesend, 8/8/09
For some reason or another, I didn't expect this all-day event to be a tremendous occasion, probably because I had become so disillusioned with local-band gatherings after a trip to a recent YOG gig in my home town of Swanley. I also hadn't heard of many of the bands performing - only the Moo Woos, who I had seen twice before, and Jaya the Cat, who I had been given a folder worth of tracks by one of the promoters, were acts I recognised. The location didn't appear to be anything special either - a small club strapped onto the side of a relatively small boozer tucked down a backstreet in the middle of shipping warehouses and factories in one corner of Gravesend, with a smoking courtyard and tiny outdoor stage out the back. When I finally arrived at around 45 minutes past the scheduled start of the show, some very bizarre noises were emanating from the outside stage (I'm pretty sure it was The Cripples) and the first band inside were still sound checking. Still nothing yet to persuade me that this would be an amazing day out.
Then the band in question completed their sound check, turned to face stage front and let rip with what can only be described as a sonic punch in the face.
The band were The Submission (10/10), and they proceeded in the next half-hour to remind me why I fell in love with punk rock in the first place. They played hard, fast (think Ramones-type tempo), anthemic, buzzsaw punk rock of the purest kind, and matched the energy of the songs with a furious delivery, led by talismanic frontman Richard Harris, who jumped, hollered, headspan, and not so much as strummed his guitar as beat it to within an inch of it's life. The rest of the band followed his lead and played to the top of their strengths - drummer Stu Cavell was a powerhouse at the back, guitarist Phil Morgan augmented the guitar assault nicely, and bassist Sadie Williams anchored it all with a bass performance that put me in mind of the likes of the Clash's Paul Simonon or Ali McMordie from Stiff Little Fingers - hardly flashy, but solid and impressive, and she was never in any danger of being drowned out in the mayhem, as some punk bassists can be. As for the songs? Again, comparisons to punk legends such as the 'Fingers and the Clash are inevitable - indeed, band anthem 'You Just Don't Know' sounded like it could have been lifted from The Clash's self-titled debut LP, which is high praise indeed. When they gave the rock 'n' roll national anthem, Chuck Berry's 'Johnny B Goode' a 100mph remix, I was sold. And when they finished with a rip-roaring version of the legendary 'White Riot', my mind was made up - The Submission are my new favourite band. They successfully tapped into the original spirit of punk rock much better than 90% of more successful 'punk' bands around today, and I certainly had no qualms in spending the princely sum of £2 on their 5-track E.P, which I shall be reviewing soon.
So a fantastic start to the day, and the band charged with continuing where The Submission left off were A Boy Named Girl (7/10), who hit the outside stage about 5 minutes after The Submission finished. ABNG were advertised on the fliers as pop-punk, but the phrase pop-punk puts me in mind of bubblegum acts such as New Found Glory. ABNG put me more in mind of the slightly heavier pop-rocking of acts such as Kids in Glass Houses, and even maybe Lostprophets circa Liberation Transmission. Certainly singer Phil was doing his best Ian Watkins impression throughout the set, or however good he could get, as the band were quite tightly crammed onto the small outdoor stage. The songs lacked the immediacy of other acts, and maybe that's what let them down a little, as their songs are the kind that may take repeated listens to get used to. I will admit that it wasn't particularly my type of thing, but I still give them good credit for putting on an energetic show, and to be honest, anybody who was given the task of trying to follow The Submission were having a lot asked of them. Also, their choice of cover was inspired - Ricky Martin's 'Livin' La Vida Loca' - and it certainly got people dancing and singing in the smokey courtyard. Full credit to them for that.
Back inside, and I was eagerly awaiting the start of The Moo Woos (9/10) set, having seen them twice before - once at a battle of the bands in Bluewater, where they performed last and blew away every band that had followed them, and another supporting the legendary Stiff Little Fingers. Once again, they didn't disappoint, with another energetic and powerful set of anthems, including the catchy 'Chelsea Girl' and 'Keep Your Eyes Peeled'. Just as before, they let loose their cover of Green Day's 'Basket Case' to a rapturous reception from the audience, and the finale to their set was inspired - a combined circle pit and singalong, if you can call it that, to their anti-chav anthem 'Fuck Drum 'n' Bass' with the crowd joining on the Neg-style 'Whoop Whoop's of the chorus. Great fun.
Another thing that hit me about the event came when Submission singer Richie ended up standing right next to me during the Moo Woos set. When I got talking to him, he was friendly and very knowledgeable about punk, and the same was true for the rest of his band - there was not a hint of arrogance or 'I'm in a band' aloofness about any of them, and the same was true for the other band members who I chatted to throughout the day. Nothing much in that you may think, but that was one of the great things about the day - there was never an 'us and them' divide between bands and fans; they all mingled and drank together as one. It made it something special - you could see a band rip it up on stage, then be sitting having a beer with them after the set.
Up next on the outside stage were acoustic two-piece Torn Out (8/10). All I had heard by them was a rough two-track demo loaned to me by the same promoter who sent me the Jaya the Cat stuff, and I was quite impressed by the way they managed to craft energetic and soulful songs with only two guitars and singer Ben Smith's gravelly voice. They kept that same feeling of gritty soul throughout their set, and while obviously they were never going to match the other bands on the bill in terms of energy and sonic bombast, they still managed to win over the crowd with a great set. Bassist Steve Knight added an extra dimension to what would have essentially been a solo singer/songwriter project with his clever bass runs and additional shouted backing vocals, but the aspect of Torn Out which sticks out for me is the honest of the lyrics - when Ben sings emphatically 'We spend our lives chasing lost nights, and we won't go home until, we know, that, Saturday's dead to us' on crowd favourite and set closer 'Chasing Lost Nights', you know that it's coming from somewhere genuine, and it's not being put on as some kind of act. Much respect.
Back inside, and it was time for the one-off reunion of local scene heroes Drop the Pop (8/10). I'd heard a lot about them but never actually heard a note, so I count myself glad that I managed to catch them for this last-ever show, as I was able to bare witness to their impressive live show. The songs themselves were sometimes difficult to keep up with, veering as they did through several different tempos and time-signatures, but they still proved very entertaining, loaded as they were with plenty of energy and danceability. What also helped was the high technical skill of the three members - singer Jak was a powerhouse singer and let loose many angry noises from his guitar throughout the set, bassist Joe Josland provided neat backing vocals and skillful bass playing, and drummer Josh proved the famous Strummer-ism 'You're only as good as your drummer' 100% correct by flipping between beats and tempos with ease. What also helped was the laugh-out-loud funny stage banter between songs, showing that there appeared to be an easy chemistry between the three members. It is a genuine shame that this is the last we may hear of DTP, as they struck me as a tight and powerful trio capable of great things. Still, as send-offs go, they well and truly head out on a high.
I'm pretty sure I remember The Constant Gs (6/10) featuring next outside, although I may have got them and Torn Out mixed up. Either way, the Gs took to the stage despite missing 2 regular members - guitarist Dan Woodrow and bassist Andy Cherry. The stand-in guitarist, Dave Joseph, had apparently a single day to learn the set, while stand-in bassist Sam Van Leer had all of - wait for it - 20 minutes to do the same thing. Alongside this, drummer Paul Smith had a massive hand in organising the entire all-day event itself. I could easily rip into the Gs, but all factors considered, they actually did a good job. Technically they were sloppy, with the occasional falling out of time here and there, but really, it was the kind of day where you could forgive slip-ups like this, and the band still gave it their all nonetheless, with Paul in particular looking like he was trying to do damage to his kit rather than play it, and they still received a hearty round of applause at the end of their set.
From here until Tyrannosaurus Alan my memory of events is a little hazy, probably because I was looking after a friend outside who was a little worse for wear, and also sharing some drinks with the Submission and friends outside, but I do remember catching a little bit of 7 Day Conspiracy, and thinking that they were very powerful and punky. I've defiantly made a note to catch them again sometime, as the little bit I saw of them was certainly promising. I also remember catching a little bit of Beng Beng Cocktail on the outside stage, and thinking 'what on Earth is that bizarre noise from the stage?' Again, another band to check out properly sometime in the future. I also missed The Sketch/Call Off the Search, but happily I did manage to pick up one of their free 3-track EPs that were being given out, so I'll give that a listen and get back to you on that.
By the time Tyrannosaurus Alan (9/10) hit the inside stage, it was starting to get late, and a healthy amount of drinks had been consumed by this stage, which meant that proper, full-on skanking could begin. And if the skank pit that was waiting to happen was the proverbial stick of dynamite, T-Alan were the ones to light the blue touch paper and stand well back. They packed the stage out with a healthy array of horns and saxophones, and proceeded to belt out a set of tight, high-energy ska which got everybody in the room moving. If you're looking for immediate comparisons, Reel Big Fish come to mind, but for me they seemed to recall the sheer, almost out-of-control ska of such legends as Bad Manners, Big 5 and The Selecter, but, more refreshingly, they created a sound which was very much their own - they blended high-energy punk with ska well, and when you throw in Simon Champ's often rapped verses, you have a truly unique combination guaranteed to whack a smile on your face and get you moving. If The Submission tapped into the original spirit of punk rock earlier on, then T-Alan certainly dug into the spirit of original ska, to the delight of the crowd (including myself).
Pity The Plan (7.5/10), the last act on the outside stage - not only did they have to follow on from T-Alan's skankathon, they also had to act as the penultimate act of the evening and provide a warm-up to the night's biggest act, Jaya the Cat - easier said than done. However, they managed it very nicely with a set of fast-paced ska-punk, often veering more towards the punk end of ska-punk, but still getting the crowd skanking nicely. If I did have a criticism of them, and this is only what prevents them from scoring higher, is that the songs did seem to blend together and all sound the same after a little while, and didn't have the immediate hook of, say, T-Alan. That's not to say they were bad songs - they certainly got the crowd moving and using up what was left of their energy, especially in one song where they encouraged a 'skank-off', with the winner getting a Plan T-shirt. Guitarists Tom Crabb and Andrew Keech pretty much shared frontman duties between them, and one thing the band as a whole couldn't be faulted for was their energy - despite the late hour (it was getting on for around half past ten) they still gave a hearty and rip-snorting performance. Hats (or should that be flat-caps, in Keech's case?) off to them for that, and I look forward to getting hold of some of their studio tracks for a listen.
The all-dayer was at last reaching it's conclusion, and there was a real sense of excitement around the headliners - the anticipation in the room was all to see. The band in question, of course, was the legendary Jaya The Cat (10/10), and they provided the perfect end to proceedings. Everybody by this stage was tired from lots of dancing (and skanking in some cases), hoarse from shouting and singing, and in some cases pretty drunk, and Jaya provided the ideal finale with a relaxed and mesmeric set of punk-tinged reggae grooves. It's certainly safe to say that they lived up to the hype surrounding them, and they didn't miss a beat. Frontman Geoff Lagadec had the audience in the palm of his hand and his gravelled-throated vocals fitted the music perfectly, and he lead from the front. Particular praise must go to the rhythm section of Jeroen Kok (bass) and Dave 'The Germ' Germain (drums) for providing a tight yet groovy foundation for Lagadec, guitarist Jordi "Pockets" Nieuwenburg and keyboardist Jan Jaap Onverwagt to build on. Nearly everybody used whatever they had left of their voice to sing along to fan favourite 'Thank You Reggae' and, when they did ramp up the energy and tempo, such as on the angry anti-establishment anthem 'Final Solution', they did this in impressive style without even breaking sweat. However, they did seem more at home with the slower reggae and even calypso melodies, and to be honest so were the crowd, who had skanked themselves to a standstill by this stage. Also, extra credit must go to Lagadec for the moment when he saw me and a couple of my friends trying to get a whaft of the floor fan he had pointed up at him, knelt down and turned the fan around to face us so we could have a nice cooling off for a few songs. Just as had been done so many times already in the day, the barrier between performer and audience had been smashed, and despite the fact that Jaya were probably the most well-known - certainly internationally - of all the acts playing, they still never came across as aloof rock stars - they were simply a bunch of guys inviting everybody to join in with their punky reggae party, and never was that truer than on the closing track, an extended jammed version of the classic Willie Williams track 'Armagideon Time' which brought the event to an amazing close.
So, final thoughts on the near-10 hour marathon of music and mayhem? Fantastic. It was completely free of poseurs or anybody who was simply there because it was 'hip' or 'trendy' - it was a gathering of people all there to celebrate ska, punk and reggae, drink, dance and have a good time. And that's exactly what they got. The original spirit of punk rock and ska was alive and well, and I cannot thank enough Local Support Promotions, and especially brothers Mike and Paul Smith, for organising and staging an awesome day's entertainment, and one of the defining moments of this summer for me.
Same time next year, everyone?
Photos by Ben Thompson and Paul Smith.
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